


Dog Days Are Over

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: (sort of?), Alternate Universe - Dogs, Dogs, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: Belle has a soft spot for the terrified stray that lives in the woods surrounding Storybrooke… but she has an even softer spot for the man he suddenly turns into. Trying to acclimate Rumple to her world, catching indistinct glimpses of his - Belle’s life suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.





	1. A Touch of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't plan to start uploading this here until it was finished, but the few faithful readers I've got (ILY) are right that it's 100% easier to track things on AO3 than tumblr. So here we are. 
> 
> Know that this began out of a prompt ("dog tags + rumbelle") and was intended to be a oneshot. Someone asked for a followup, then another... and before I knew it I was attempting a legit story. It's definitely not my usual way of doing things - writing before I have a clear plot, in tiny spurts, etc. - but it's been a fun and informative experiment so far. Hopefully you all enjoy the ride too <3

“A burger, fries, strawberry milkshake, and—”

“Something for the rabid pooch, yes?”

“He’s not _rabid_.” Belle said it sheepishly, ignoring Granny’s pointed look. “Have you even seen him?”

The Look strengthened. Granny poured the milkshake with frustrated gusto. “Yes, I’ve seen the thing. Awful, straggly mutt. I mean honestly, Belle, don’t get too close, he’s likely to bite.”

“Not he’s not.” Belle took her food, passed over a ten, and used her newly freed hand to wag a finger. “And if you’d actually bothered to look at him, you’d see that’s not true. Poor guy is scared a whole lot more of us than we are of him. Besides, he has tags. I’ve seen them.”

Granny sniffed. “Maybe he does, but he’s not one of Storybrooke’s. I know every person who’s come through this town in the last two generations and not one of them would claim that sorry excuse as their companion. Heaven only knows where it came from.”

Belle’s lips tightened, but she ducked her head so Granny wouldn’t see. Since moving to the small Maine town three years previously, she’d learned that the residents—while generally kind people—could become rather closed-minded when it came to outsiders.

Even, apparently, a dog.

“Thanks for lunch, Granny,” Belle said. She mustered a warm smile, unwilling to let this old argument actually come between them. Ruby was one of her closest friends and Granny one of the few parental figures in her life. No disagreement was worth risking that.

Granny pressed change into Belle’s hand—along with a freshly baked cookie. She gave a smile of her own. “Keep safe.”

“It’s Storybrooke, Granny. I’ll be fine.”

The dry reprimand did the trick, breaking the ice and allowing Belle to leave the diner with a friendly wave and lightened steps. Her expression smoothed into something more pensive though as she made her way down the street, cutting across the school grounds—waving to Mary Margaret and the children as she went—and heading straight into the woods. There was a thin stream there, a mere trickle really, but over the stream was a crumbling stone bridge and beneath that bridge was Belle’s dog.

He was something, certainly. ‘Straggly’ was the one thing Granny had gotten right.

“Hey, Rumple,” she murmured, bending to lay the extra hamburger meat on the ground. “Hey there. Don’t worry, I’m just leaving it here. C’mon. Don’t be scared…”

Belle backed up a few good paces, keeping her distance. It had been this way ever since she’d first found him two weeks ago: Rumple, shaking and whining and indeed very scared. Belle, endlessly patient as she waited for him to crawl out of his hole.

It had felt a bit like fate, really. It was rare that Belle decided to go on walks, choosing instead to devote her free time to Storybrooke’s sole library and bookshop. But the spring air had been so welcoming, the stream cool against her feet, and following it too much like a fairy tale to pass up. When Belle had come across the abandoned bridge she’d immediately ducked inside, giggling privately and wondering if she’d find a troll.

No trolls, but the sweetest little pup had been waiting for her.

“There you go,” she whispered when Rumple finally poked his head out. He sniffed the meat hungrily, ears flopping.

It wasn’t the most original name, but Belle hadn’t been able to pass up the opportunity. Everything about him was ‘rumpled,’ from his matted fur to the way his back leg folded in on him, the limp a result of some old injury. Granny and the others Belle had mentioned Rumple to might have been scared of a large dog living out in the woods, but she’d just seen another soul in need of a friend. He was still a bit skittish around her, seeming unwilling to believe that she wouldn’t hurt him somehow. It took three days to get him out of his den. Four more for him to eat with her watching. Now Belle inched forward just a little and the most Rumple did was glance at her cautiously. Belle’s smile was radiant.

“Good boy,” she cooed, scooting just a little more. “Look how brave you are. Where did you come from, hmm? I don’t know what you could have been living on out here. Maybe you’re magic, yeah? A little magic pup from another world. I’ve heard bridges are passages for lovely creatures, just like you. Did you travel all this way to see me?”

Belle kept up the chatter, most of it nonsense, but her voice seemed to calm him a great deal. Rumple let her get closer than he ever had before and Belle was nearly shaking with excitement. She hadn’t been lying to Granny about the tags; she could see them glinting beneath the knots in his fur. She was eager to get a look at them and contact his family. Whatever had gotten Rumple to this place had been bad, but surely he’d want to see those people again. He’d want to go home.

Belle was surprised by how much she’d miss him though.

“Good boy, wonderful boy…”

Rumple was wolfing down his dinner, sprawled on the muddy bank with his limps spread every which way. Belle was sitting right next to him now, ruining her dress and not caring one whit. He’d never let her get this close before, so it was with great hesitation that she reached out to pet him.

Rumple actually met her halfway, bopping his filthy head into her palm, his tongue flicking out to lap around her fingers. Belle let out a startled laugh and ran her fingers through his fur, scratching lightly.

“Look at that! See, I’m not going to hurt you.”

He let out a whine that might have been agreement… or a desire for more food. Rumple sniffed around Belle’s pockets experimentally.

She snorted, still laughing. “Oh yeah. Granny was right. You’re _ferocious_. All right, beast, let’s see who’s missing yo—oh.”

Belle delicately parted the mats around the tags and was surprised to find _dog tags_. That is, of the army variety, the chain looped twice around Rumple’s neck and cutting into his skin. Belle hissed at the wound, being even more careful lest he suddenly become skittish again. Rumple seemed oddly complacent though. He pressed harder into Belle’s hands.

“Well,” she said, “I don’t think I care for how your family tagged you, but maybe you just got them tangled out here, hmm? You’re a fighter, Rum. Granny won’t convince me otherwise. What, did you get that limp in a war? Ha. My brave little soldier. You—…”

Belle trailed off again. She’s finally gained Rumple’s trust and flipped the tags, but…

They were blank.

“…That’s okay,” she said, trying to keep an upbeat tone. Rumple was staring at her with big brown eyes and Belle was trying desperately to remember if her tiny house was pet-proof. “I’ll be your family now, okay? Don’t you worry, sweetie. We’ll just get rid of these first.”

Carefully, Belle snuck three fingers between the beads and Rumple’s neck, massaging the skin there briefly. The chain was old and rusted—seemingly older than Rumple himself was—and it broke after just a few tugs. Rumple let out a bark and stumbled to his feet, like an awkward, newborn lamb. He shook out his fur and threw his head about, seemingly overjoyed to have the tags off him. Belle watched in amazement, laughing as he continued to shake and arch into the mud, radiating more energy and happiness than Belle had seen in two whole weeks.

“You should have let me do that earlier!” she cried, giving a happy shriek when Rumple’s movement splattered more mud onto her dress. Shaking it from her face, Belle looked down at the tags in her hand, prepared to toss them into the nearest bin, except…

Except there was writing now.

Belle’s breath caught, something stilling within her, and her lips went numb as she read out the words now embossed on the tag:  

“ _If found, please return to Belle French, Chipped Lane, Number 12, Storybrooke Maine_.” There was a quote on the second tag and Belle felt like she was falling as she read that out too. “ _To break chains… such an act is a brief flicker of light_ —”

“— _amidst an ocean of darkness_ ,” a voice finished. A man’s voice, scraggly and just slightly scared. “I _am_ a long way from where I started, Belle, but… I think I may have found my way home. If… if you’ll have me…”

Belle looked up, shocked, and fell all over into familiar brown eyes.


	2. For You and Me Both

“I have to say, this really isn’t how I expected to spend my Friday night.”

Belle immediately regretted her words when the man— _Rumple_ —flinched horribly. He curled a little further into the couch, letting out a sound of assent that was too much like a dog’s whine. Belle hesitated, then inched forward to sit on the coffee table across from him, carefully keeping her hands in view. It felt like where they’d been two weeks ago: Rumple cowering in fear, Belle approaching him with all the patience in the world.

The only difference was that two weeks ago he’d been a _dog_.

Two hours, really.

“You’re scared,” she murmured. “I get that. It’s okay, but I think things would go a little more smoothly for both of us if you could just… explain?”

In all honesty, Belle’s mind was a collision of various alarms sounding, her calm exterior just armor to hide the fact that she was very much panicking. All her life Belle had dreamed of magic coming to brighten her days—receiving a letter by owl, charged with destroying a ring, falling head first down a rabbit hole… but of course her life had been incredibly, painfully normal. If magic did come her way, she’d certainly never expected it in the form of the dog living under Storybrooke’s bridge.

Because that’s what this had to be, right? She’d seen a dog turn into a man. A set of tags glow with her name and address. Then those same tags had melted away seconds later, disappearing as if they’d never existed, as if they were never meant for this world at all.

Belle swallowed hard and managed a smile. “What’s your name?” she asked.

Rumple looked about as calm as she felt. Whatever strength he’d borrowed to speak to her in the forest (something about home?) deserted him soon after. It had taken Belle the rest of the afternoon to coax him back to her place, being extra careful that no one spotted them on the way. The last thing Belle needed was for Granny to see her sneaking off with some strange man. A _naked_ man no less.

Yes, Rumple had borrowed her hoodie and he might have been thin, but he was still _tall_. It was hardly decent and only Belle’s maturity kept the pink out of her cheeks, staring at him now on her couch, only a thin blanket thrown over his lower half. She couldn’t get him to accept any clothes yet. He hadn’t done anything other than shake… and keep his eyes firmly on Belle. She’d been able to feel the weight of his gaze in the kitchen, gathering her thoughts in the name of making tea. Now Belle thought about offering him the mug, but it didn’t look like he’d be willing to release his arms from the blanket’s safety to take it.

“Rumple?” she prompted. “I’d really rather use your real name, not this silly thing I made up.”

She’d meant the comment to be humorous, but Rumple shook his head violently. “No,” he croaked. “I love this name. You… you _gave_ it to me. Unless you want it back?” He blanched at the possibility. “I… I don’t remember my first.”

“Oh,” Belle murmured. “You’re…?”

“Old,” he said. Rumple’s voice was scratchy and hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in decades… and Belle supposed he actually hadn’t. Feeding those suspicious, he nodded, then dared to sit up a little more. His thin legs pressed against his chest beneath the blanket, dirty toes peaking out from the edge. Rumple curled himself into a ball and spoke to his knees.

“I… I’m not from here. From this…world.” He nodded when Belle sucked in a breath. “I remember being poor… forced to join an army and fight—” he shivered violently, whining in the back of his throat. “ _Monsters_ ,” Rumple whispered. “I wouldn’t—couldn’t… our army had a sorceress fighting…” Belle nodded encouragingly and Rumple sucked in a fortifying breath. All he said though was, “ _I don’t know how I got here_ ,” and he moaned, pressing his face to the blanket. “I just woke up under that bridge one day and you—you—”

“Shh, it’s alright.”

He was crying now, soft hiccups that had Belle reaching for him. She hesitated a moment, then thread her fingers into Rumple’s hair, feeling the grime and even fear there. He stiffened briefly at the contact before melting into her, letting out a sob of relief as Belle began petting him, picking up on the fact that he’d spent ages as a dog, too used to those instincts to give up on them now. She continued to sooth him for a time until Rumple’s shoulders dropped and his hands unclenched.

“You’re safe with me,” Belle said. “I can promise that much. Is there anything else? Those words.. the tags…?

“Army,” he whispered, peaking up at her again. “The words were part of the curse, but I don’t know why they…” Rumple swallowed hard.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

Nothing like comforting another to still your own fear. Belle was aware that the back of her mind was leaping into logic mode: cataloguing and accepting that alternate realities existed, as did witches, curses, the ability for dogs to turn back into men… It was nothing she could prove to the rest of Storybrooke, but Belle had never needed hard evidence to bolster her faith. She believed in what she could see and right now Belle saw a man in desperate need of love. Not caring to wait another moment she nestled beside him, pulling Rumple down into her lap. Amazingly he went, a shiver wracking his body before he rolled to press his nose against Belle’s stomach.

“My name and address were on those tags,” Belle said, still petting soothingly. “Surely that means something.”

Rumple was very still. Then, softly she heard: “You own me, Belle.”

She scoffed. “You can’t own a person, Rumple. But I’m certainly not going to kick you out. I’d already resigned myself to a dog. This is just… a unique step up.”

She must have said the right thing because all the tension left Rumple’s body in a rush, leaving him limp and relieved against her. Part of Belle still balked at this—magic, a man naked and curled in her lap, hadn’t she been with Granny just a few hours before?—but the larger part, the part that kept growing, remained astounded by how _right_ this felt. She’d already loved Rumple in a manner she’d thought was like an owner loving a pet, but looking back it had been stronger than that, hadn’t it? Even then. Could she have somehow known, or suspected?

Not that it mattered. Rumple was here now and unless he asked it of her, Belle had no intention of letting him go.

As if to reassure them both, Belle wrapped her arms more tightly around his shoulders. Rumple responded by forcing his arms between her and the couch cushions, wrapping them around her waist.

“I propose this,” Belle said. “We’ll stay here for as long as you need and when you’re ready I’ll draw you a bath. Then food, sleep… I’m not sure what exactly comes next, but we can take it from there.”

“We can?”

“Uh huh. I’m pretty good at stories, you know. How about this one: I contacted that poor dog’s owner, just like I said I would, and the wonderful Rumple Gold came to retrieve him. We spent the weekend getting to know each other and though sadly the dog passed from exposure, I gained someone _far_ more remarkable in my life.”

Rumple lifted his head, staring at her in wonder. He seemed struck by the whole tale, but particularly—

“Gold?”

“Mm hmm. Beautiful. Treasured.” Belle gave in and brushed the bangs from his eyes, ignoring the terror of how natural that felt. “Do you like it?”

Rumple leaned forward and in his most human gesture yet rested his forehead against hers. Belle closed her eyes, reveling in their breathing together.

“That’s the second name you’ve given me,” he whispered. “I… Belle I _lied_. I do remember my name.. but that’s the name of a coward. I want _yours_.”

“Then you have it,” Belle promised and opened her eyes. Rumple’s brown ones were still waiting for her, softer and more loving than she could have ever imagined. She spontaneously burst into a grin.

“I changed my mind. I couldn’t imagine spending my Friday  _any_ other way.”


	3. Advancement

Belle had always focused on beauty when she thought about magic: communing with nature, animals, finding ways to bend the world through means that simply weren’t possible here. Each fantasy encompassed gowns and streams and wands, the wind always whispering and the time approaching midnight. After all, what was the use of daydreaming if you didn’t dream for the better?

It was Ruby who’d first pointed out the flaw in all that. “Really, Belle?” she’d teased. “You want to live in a world without TV and indoor plumbing? Have fun dying of polio or something.”

They could debate about the merging of magic and technology indefinitely—and they had—but Belle hadn’t realized just how accurate her fantasies were until she tried heating up Rumple’s tea.

He was still on the couch, now back in the corner after Belle had finally untangled them, nearly an hour of petting and cuddling later. For brief seconds she’d feel stabs of it being too much—too fast, too strange, too _everything_ —but then Belle would straighten her shoulders and forge ahead, because really, what else could she do? Looking at Rumple helped. Not at his nakedness or the canine twitch of his limbs, but just him—warm eyes and a tentative smile. That bolstered Belle in ways she’d never imagined.

“Here,” she said. “I’ll re-heat the tea. It’ll be good to get something in your stomach other than Granny’s burgers. If I’d known I was feeding _you_ …”

This time her humor didn’t fall flat and Belle experienced a spike of joy when Rumple’s smile grew, just a tiny bit. He was smiling when she left him, taking the tea with her.

It had never occurred to Belle that her living room was old-fashioned. It certainly didn’t come across as out of date, just… simple. She had her front door with a small hook to hang her keys, ratty couch inherited from Archie’s spring cleaning two years earlier, facing the windows, the coffee table with magazines and one vase of fake flowers, and then the bookshelves, spanning the room and radiating love from every angle. Belle had made sure that her pride and joys were displayed prominently to anyone who came in, each shelf straining and every book worn from faithful re-reading. Of course, this wasn’t even half her collection. There were numerous, smaller shelves upstairs and a number of books had found their way into the town’s library, courtesy of Regina’s strict budget. If Belle couldn’t buy Storybrooke her favorites, at least she could lend them.

So her front room wasn’t meager by any means, but Belle had never realized how much it lacked in technology, evidence of her world and its advancements. She’d taken Rumple’s tea without incident, humming softly as she went, remembering the afternoon a week ago when she’d sang to him and drawn Rumple out from his hole for the very first time. Belle wasn’t normally one for performance, but for Rumple she’d sing. She’d sing long and clear as a bell.

Re-stirring the contents, dumping in a little extra honey. Belle popped the tea into the microwave with nary a thought—the loud bang of the door, the beeps as she put in the time, a solid minute of whirring until the timer sounded harshly. She’d left Rumple with a smile and when she came back he was gone.

Just… gone.

“… Rumple?” she said quietly, deliberately calm. Belle forced herself to take a deep breath, ignoring the possibilities running through her mind. Maybe he’d disappeared back where he’d come from. Maybe he’d never existed at all. How was that any less probable than him appearing in the first place?

Belle could just feel something hot lodging in her throat when a shadow moved beneath the couch.

“Oh, Rumple,” she said, relief flooding her. Belle replaced the tea exactly where she’d taken it from, getting down on her knees to peer beneath the couch. “What are you doing down there?”

He didn’t answer. Belle could just make out the light of his eyes and the shadow of one hand pressed against his mouth, quivering. Rumple had taken the blanket with him and the rest of his body was a black, shapeless mass, too dark for Belle to read. She waited then, gaze encouraging.

It took Rumple a few tries to get his voice working. “What is that?” he whispered.

Belle’s brow furrowed. “What’s what?”

“ _That_ ,” he said. The blurred hand finally descended from his mouth and snuck out bravely, pointing, it seemed to Belle, to the whole kitchen. When she torqued her head though she realized only a sliver of the room was visible from this angle—including her microwave.

“The mic—? …oh. _Oh_.” Belle’s head whipped back to stare at him. “You don’t… have anything like that back home?”

“This is home,” he said and the words were so instinctual, so honest and clear, that for a moment Belle felt like she couldn’t breathe. Rumple certainly hadn’t intended to let that slip, for just a second later he was pulling tighter into the shadows, the visible bits of his expression reflecting a blush she couldn’t see. “T-that is, no. We don’t have anything like this,” and for the first time Rumple’s eyes skittered past Belle, taking in her home’s lighting, the tile, the clock on the wall. She could see his pupils blowing wider with each object he found.

That was true then. Her fantasies. At least, that one possibility—his one world—was a version of her imagination. Belle slid her legs out and laid flat on her stomach, blocking most of Rumple’s view. As she’d hoped, his eyes focused back on her, shiny in the dark with unshed tears. She couldn’t imagine how overwhelming all this must be. Not just the curse and its sudden breaking, but having all that happen in a universe filled with things he couldn’t understand. How was Rumple to know those sounds didn’t mean danger? Why wouldn’t he be scared?

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’d be just as lost if I was in your position. It’s okay.” Those words were becoming a mantra between them, but Belle wasn’t frustrated by the repetition. If anything, she embraced it. If those were the words Rumple needed to hear then she’d happily say them for eternity.

Belle blinked. Eternity? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Technology first.

“It’s a microwave,” she said, sounding out the word slowly for his benefit. “It won’t hurt you. All this stuff,” she flapped a hand at the room behind her. “It’s just that, _stuff_. The clock? The round thing? That tells the time. There’s something called a refrigerator back there that keeps food cold so it won’t spoil as fast. The microwave re-heats food. Like tea.”

Belle was so glad to see curiosity filling Rumple’s gaze instead of straight-up fear. That was something she could nurture.

“An hourglass,” he murmured, nodding against the wood of her floor. “An icebox… does your, ah, microwave use fire?”

“No, something called electricity, and if you make me explain that in detail I’m going to bop you.” It was clear Rumple didn’t understand her comment, but he gave the approximation of a smile nevertheless. “It’s complicated,” Belle clarified, “and I was never one for science. If you want I can give you some books on it to read.”

That smile dropped away. “…I never learned to read,” Rumple admitted. “The don’t teach…”

‘The likes of me’ went unsaid. Belle suddenly wondered what exactly his position in that world had been—who Rumple was, where he’d grown up, whether he’d had a family. The possibility of a partner and children curdled Belle’s stomach, the idea that Rumple may have lost his humanity in ways that had nothing to do with turning into a dog.

“Well,” Belle whispered. “I guess I’ll just have to teach you how. After all, we’re family now, right?”

Yes. She was his family now, for better or for worse. And if a tiny bit of satisfaction thread its way into Belle’s heart at that… She was only human after all.

They were still each flat on the ground, parallel to one another, in synch in all the ways that mattered. Belle slid her arm out just an inch or so, waiting for Rumple to meet her halfway. When he did his touch was electric—thin, freezing, dirtied fingers that flew ghost-like over hers. They were perfect though and Belle made sure to grip them tight. She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“Your tea’s probably gone cold again,” she said and Rumple huffed out something resembling a chuckle. “Maybe we should leave it for now, yeah? I can show you how to use the microwave later. Right now I think it’s time for that bath.” Her gaze sharpened, growing critical of Rumple’s appearance in the kindest way possible. “Crawling under the couch really didn’t help. C’mon.”

He wiggled out, casting only one (okay, a few) worried glances towards the kitchen. Rumple had managed to collect every dust-bunny and smear of dirt possible and if it were anyone else Belle would have died of embarrassment.

“It’s, uh, been a while since I cleaned.”

Rumple just shook himself, exactly as a dog would. Belle stared in wonder at the movement, a shiver-like shake starting in the small of his back and moving up through his shoulders, ending as Rumple shook out his hair wildly. A small cloud floated between them and Belle sneezed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, tiny smile sneaking back.

“Bath,” Belle insisted and helped tug Rumple to his feet. He turned in a slow circle, really taking in the room now, his eyes bulging at the mounds of books. Belle grasped the ends of her now filthy blanket and pulled him along.

“Indoor plumbing,” she chuckled, thinking of Ruby. “Not everything is loud and scary like the microwave, Rumple. Oh hey, do you have a favorite LUSH product?”

He didn’t understand of course. But Rumple was perfectly happy to shake his head, following Belle up the stairs like a man following light itself.


	4. Settling In

“We’re going to be adults about this,” Belle announced.

Getting Rumple upstairs had actually been a bit of a challenge— “You’ve never climbed _stairs_?” “I lived in a hut…I’ve never been in a palace before…” “Pff, well this is no palace, I’ll tell you that”—and he’d kept pausing to bend, lightly touching his fingertips to the step directly above him. Belle didn’t know if he was resisting getting down on all fours or if he just liked the carpeting, but it took them longer than she expected just to reach the bathroom.

A late lunch from Granny’s, some time spent out in the woods, getting Rumple back to her house, explanations, her stupid microwave… Belle didn’t know how late it was exactly, late enough for her body to betray her. She let out a massive yawn.

Belle had every intention of drawing Rumple a bath and leaving him to it, giving him a bit of privacy after such a crazy day, but it quickly became clear that he’d prefer to have her with him.

Clear in the sense of a dirty hand grasping her sleeve and a gently whispered, “Stay?”

Hence, ‘be an adult about this, Belle.’

She’s never been overly modest by any means, but even Belle could admit to some discomfort when a stranger—yes, in the literal sense of the word, no matter how strong the bond—was disrobing in her home, revealing a somewhat starved, but generally fit physique. Rumple hardly seemed to notice. She had the feeling he’d generally be as embarrassed as she was, possibly more so, but right now he just looked drained and very overwhelmed. He sat hesitantly on the toilet seat, the blanket dropping away as he gazed around the room.

“It’s so colorful,” he whispered, staring from this to that. “I haven’t seen color in…”

That’s right. Couldn’t dogs only see in shades of grey? Something like that. Belle looked to her bathroom walls and her cheeks flushed again: each tile was crudely painted with suns, houses, animals… all sorts of childish features. Mary Margaret had organized the gift with her class, a thank-you collection of coasters for all the work Belle had done in bringing the library and school together. No one had expected her to keep the things, let alone use them as fixtures in her bathroom. Leroy had been happy for the extra work though.

“They’re from the kids around town,” she explained, still shuffling awkwardly. “You’ll get to meet them soon. If you want.”

Rumple was staring at Belle like with those words alone she’d just given him the moon. That sort of devotion—from something so simple really—was too much right now and Belle turned away, fiddling with the faucet.

The first rush of water made Rumple jump and brought a smile back to Belle’s face.  

“Indoor plumbing!” she called, then tapered the water off a bit so it wasn’t so loud. Belle let it run another moment until it had started warming up. “There, see?”

Hesitantly, Rumple reached across to stick his hand under the tap and when he did he smiled too— not timid, or hesitant, or even small, just a genuine grin that had Belle reaching for the tub’s rim for balance.

“It’s so warm,” he marveled. “We used well water in the village, deep enough that it was always cold, even in summer.”

“Well you can have as much hot water here as you’d like,” Belle promised. She took a deep breath to pull herself back together. “Even my meager budget can manage that.”

“Is everything like this here?”

When she turned to him, Rumple’s eyes shown with such an intense, hopeful curiosity that Belle felt herself reeling again. What was she supposed to say to that? What did you do in the face of such child-like naïveté? Explain that Regina had this whole town under her thumb, manipulating those she couldn’t outright terrify? That there were few prospects for newcomers when everyone intermarried, kept up their suspicions for years, and, as Granny so aptly pointed out, no one ever left? That Belle had moved here not because she wanted to, but because this town was one of the few places her dad hadn’t screwed over, tanking the flower shop, dying of a heart attack months later, saddling Belle with all the bills? That the only reason she’d been accepted here at all was because they needed a librarian and Belle’s one true, innate talent was in making friends? That Storybrooke was _boring_?

Well, maybe not entirely. She’d found Rumple after all.

“It’s just Storybrooke,” Belle fudged, tapering the water off. “I promised you Lush products, didn’t I? Here,” and she grabbed the last bath bomb, courtesy of Ruby’s birthday basket. Within moments the water was a gorgeous, galaxy blue, drawing a gasp from Rumple.

Convincing him that no, this wasn’t magic. Yes, it was safe. _Yes_ , of course you deserve it, it’s not like I can take it _back_ —was becoming a familiar challenge. Belle finally got him stepping carefully into the tub, averting her eyes as the blanket slipped away. Even so, she caught the lines of Rumple’s back, spine protruding and dirt ground into every crease of his skin. Belle realized for the first time that he was probably a bit older than her, maybe even in his early forties.

He trembled as he tried to sit, forcing Belle to give him her other arm. At first she thought it was pure exhaustion, but then she spotted the fierce trembling in his left leg, his knee nearly knocking against the side. Rumple finally splashed into a seated position, a quick whimper of pain escaping him.

“You okay?” Belle murmured.

Rumple’s eyes flew back open, locking onto hers with his mouth dropping… like no one had bothered to ask him that before. Maybe they hadn’t. Belle had reassured him a great deal, but had she really bothered to stop and ask?

She settled next to the tub on the bathmat, letting one hand drift across his shoulders. “Okay?” she asked again, softer this time.

“… okay,” he repeated, rather than offering up an answer. Belle was tempted to press for a moment.  She wanted to ask how he’d injured his leg, what he’d done back in that other world, if he had any idea how he’d managed to cross to this one… but within seconds Rumple’s eyes were fluttering, the day and the hot water getting the best of him.

“Another time,” she said, entirely to herself. Rumple looked like he could barely hear her now.

Once, Belle had considered becoming a nurse, before her love of literature entirely consumed her. She hadn’t actually gotten to the studying part, but she’d read enough stories to know the gist of caring for another. So it was easier than expected to put her sensibilities aside and gave Rumple a perfunctory washing, as diligently and objectively as she’d give the restoration of any book. By the time Belle was done the water was filthy, the beauty of her bath bomb long gone. She drained the tub, stroking the ridges of Rumple’s back as he sat there shivering, urging the water to re-fill as quickly as possible.

Rumple’s hair proved to be a challenge then, the strands positively matted from years (decades?) of wandering wild. Belle was no artist, but she was able to snatch up a pair of sheers and give him a simple cut, letting the worst of the knots fall into the water. Rumple watched them clog up her drain dispassionately, periodically moving between touching the strands and staring at her with heady-lidded eyes.

Shampoo, conditioner, more shampoo, _more_ conditioner… after the fourth rinse Belle could finally run her fingers through his hair, noting the slight curl and streaks of grey, confirming Rumple’s age. She gave him one last cleaning after that, his head resting against his knees as he let Belle do as she pleased. She wasn’t sure whether she should be grateful for his trust or worried about his exhaustion. Well, there was only one way to cure the latter. Belle coaxed and prodded Rumple into standing again, swathing him in a small mound of towels. All of them smelled like her.

Belle sat him on the guest room bed, listing. “I’ll find you some clothes.”

It hurt her, in the way wounds you got from your own folly hurt, to retrieve some of her dad’s clothes from storage. They were the only things that would fit Rumple though. As it was, he’d swim in them.

Belle smiled at the mental image. She took comfort in it.

Dressing Rumple was no more taxing than bathing him and at that point he seemed to realize she’d been doing all the work, clumsily shoving his limbs into the clothes while a faint blush stained his cheeks. Even so, Rumple barely managed to make it under the covers before he was out, his breathing the deep, even sighs of the content.

So much for dinner then. Or saying goodnight. Belle was surprised by how much she’d wanted to wish him sweet dreams, like they’d known each other for years and this was a normal end to their days. Maybe it would be, in the near future. She settled for tucking Rumple in and leaving him some water.

Perhaps tomorrow night.

It took Belle a long time to fall asleep, despite her own exhaustion. She kept wondering if Rumple would wake up scared, or need something from her… her mind kept jerking her awake with the promise of magic and distant worlds. It was well past the witching hour before Belle could finally close her eyes

She woke though, less than an hour later. Her legs registered an unfamiliar weight nearby.

Belle rose on her elbows and fought a sleepy smile. Rumple had indeed needed something, apparently. He was asleep at the end of her bed, happily curled by her feet like the most faithful of all companions.


	5. Outsider In

_~Sometime in the near future~_

Granny had seen a lot of things in her time, and though she was used to dealing with the unexpected, she obviously preferred the familiar.

She enjoyed the predictability of a town like Storybrooke, where the old still felt new and the new could be downright scary. Granny accepted that she was the embodiment of the trope—old biddy too stuck in her ways—but damn if she wouldn’t embrace it. She liked her diner. She liked her routine. Above all, Granny liked knowing who everyone was who walked through that door.

“Who are you?”

So what was this then?

‘What’ seemed a good word. The man who shuffled in was a _mess_. Granted, they were all their own mess here in Storybrooke, but this guy was a mess of contradictions: his suit was of a fine quality, but it didn’t fit him worth a damn. His hair was clean, but badly cut. He carried a cane too short for him and he walked like he wanted to strut but hadn’t quite figured out how yet.

Granny might have been scared of this stranger if his expression wasn’t that of a goddamn puppy. Kick him once and he’d probably be down for the count. Still, she wasn’t one to bet entirely on looks. Those could be deceiving. Granny was the embodiment of that trope too.

“Sir?”

The scruffy man finally looked up, his eyes wide.

“I asked you a question.”

“Oh… who am I? R-rumple, ma’am. Rumple… Gold.”

He stuttered the name out like he was unfamiliar with the syllables, all the while moving further into the diner. She might have questioned him more, but this Rumple (and damn if that wasn’t a fitting name) was looking around in pure wonder. His gaze skipped around, from the sparkling countertops to the fluorescent lights, the large salt shakers and thin cracks in the tile, the early morning breakfasters—staring at him with equal befuddlement—and the food Granny had laid out before her, packing up take-away lunches for her usual’s. He took it all in with a reverence only she’d managed to churn up for this place. Hell, even Ruby didn’t look at their booths like that, like they were seats for a royal ass. It endeared the boy to her. A little.

“Sit,” Granny said, pointing to the seat directly in front of her. Rumple sat, but in such an awkward manner that Granny couldn’t help but laugh. Had nothing to do with the boy’s leg. You’d just think he’d never sat on a stool before. What a strange one.

The other diners—Doc, Archie, and two of Mary Margaret’s friends—turned back to their meals, seemingly content to let Granny handle the situation. Maybe she’d embrace the newcomer. Or toss him out on his ear. Either way, there’d be plenty to gossip about later on.

In fact, Granny didn’t choose either. Not yet at least. Instead she went about her business, deliberately ignoring Rumple as she finished up the lunches, though still watching him from the corner of her eye of course. He seemed content to keep quiet as well, still looking around at anything and everything. He only perked up when Granny stuffed a corned beef sandwich into Leroy’s bag. Rumple positively shot forward at that, leaning across the counter to breathe in deeply. Granny none too subtly steeped back.

He wasn’t _that_ endearing. 

“Would you like one?” she asked icily.

“Really? I could? I mean, I would, yes! Or…” He suddenly stopped, eyes going wide as a possibility occurred to him. “Or… a hamburger? Here, Belle gave me money.”

Damnation, but his smile was like the sun and Granny stood slightly dazed, wondering where the hell this stray could have possibly come in fro—

Wait.

“Belle?” she said, even as Rumple began pulling some very _rumpled_ bills from his inside suit pocket.  “Our Belle? My Belle? Who is she to you, boy?”

“A friend.” It came out with a dopy smile on his face, all his concentration on getting the money out. He seemed to be looking at each bill individually, checking their number before smoothing it onto the counter. There was a neat little pile building beside Emma’s chicken salad.

Granny was seething. “What _kind_ of friend?”

“A… good one…?”

Her tone had finally permeated. Rumple went from pleased-as-punch to despairing in the same span of time it took Mills to down a shot. (Which was to say, no time at all. Witch she might be, but that woman could drink like few Granny had seen.) It was one thing for a stranger to wander into her diner, quite another for him to proclaim himself a ‘good friend’ of young Belle’s. Granny could think of a few reasons why a man twice her age, in an ill-fitting suit, and wandering around like a stoner would know their pretty librarian… and none of them were reassuring.

She wasn’t a violent woman, no, but Granny did keep a baseball bat hidden behind the counter. She gripped it now, tightly.

Out on his ear… 

Rumple hardly looked the devious sort though. He just kept glancing between her and the money, like he was honestly confused by the turn of events. Did he really not know what he’d just implied to her? Maybe the boy was simple. Too simple to prey on Belle.

Granny’s grip loosened. That is, until Rumple leaned forward and the front of his suit pulled back.

He was wearing a goddamn _collar_ under his shirt.

The other diners had caught onto the tension, now shifting nervously in their seats. Granny was seeing red spots of rage at this point, her mind reminding her that she was far from a blushing virgin (and secretly whispering that she’d always been a fan of raunchy romance novels). She knew what the young’ins got up to in bed. Rumple was oblivious to it all, leaning into her space—showing off the leather collar cinched tight around his neck—and blinking big brown eyes up at her.

“It is not enough?” he asked, gesturing to the bills, and Granny twitched at that pile of ones. “For the sandwich and, yes! That’s right, I’m supposed to get a… car? That’s the word? Belle said to ask if you know anyone who can lend us one.” 

Rumple smiled then, small and tentative and too much of a damn contradiction. He was practically bouncing in his seat.  

“We need one, see. Belle and I are going on an _adventure_.”


	6. Breakfast for Two

Belle had never had another man sleep in her bed before. She’d never met anyone she wanted to give that spot to and ultimately hadn’t felt a great need to search. It didn’t mean she hadn’t imagined partners of course, of all variety, but if someone had told her the first would be curled at the _foot_ of her bed like some sort of faithful dog…

Belle could feel Rumple’s weight settled against her shins and calves. She cracked open an eye and met brown across the duvet.

“Morning,” she said groggily.

“Sorry,” came the timid response and Belle nearly snorted, hardly expecting anything less. Maybe it was the intimacy of the bath last night, Belle’s oddly reassuring dreams, or just the effects of a restful night sleep, but she found Rumple’s hesitancy more endearing than worrisome in the morning light. She just shook her head kindly and pulled her arm out from under the covers, opening it wide. Gestures were so much easier to speak in than words.

Looking like he’d stopped breathing—like he could hardly believe his luck—Rumple crawled forward until he was lying down beside her, hands tucked under his chin and legs curled up against his chest. They were no more than six inches away from one another and Belle felt a thrill at the proximity. Rumple must have felt it too because his whole body shivered, rustling the blankets beneath them.

“Let’s try this again,” Belle whispered. “Good morning.”

“… Good morning,” Rumple whispered back.

He didn’t know how to continue the conversation. Neither did Belle, frankly. Did you sleep well? Better after I got into bed with you. Are you nervous? Sort of. Scared? No duh. At least a little bit excited for the day… week… life ahead?

Belle sure hoped so.

“Let’s lay down some ground rules, yeah?” she said, still keeping her voice low and soothing. “Not even rules. More like guidelines. You don’t know how to deal with going from a dog to a man or this world or any of _that_. I’m not sure how to deal with a dog turned man or the fact that your world exists or any of _this_. So let’s not deal. Let’s just… do stuff. Whatever we want, and if we sorta learn to deal along the way… that’s good.”

“And if we don’t?” Rumple asked, curling further into himself.

“Then that’s fine too.”

Belle’s arm was nearly around his head and shoulders, not quite touching him yet. She spread her fingers, tentative tendrils reaching out for him, and when they connected with Rumple’s hair he jumped. It only took a moment for him to relax though and when he did he positively melted into the bed, letting out a low hum in the back of his throat that dragged a smile onto Belle’s lips. His hair was still soft from last night’s shampoo and it had frizzed horribly during the night. It looked adorable.

“What do you want, Rumple?” she asked.

“You.”

“You’ve got me. What else?”

Rumple arched up into her hand, eyes lidded and legs uncurling in a distinctly dog-like stretch. Belle shouldn’t have been surprised by the answer when he finally spoke.

“Breakfast?”

She grinned. “Give me a few minutes to deal with this morning breath and you can have all the breakfast you want.”

***

Or, Rumple could have whatever meager food was left in her fridge.

“Too many stops at Granny’s,” Belle muttered. “Not enough grocery shopping. Damn.”

There was bread. Okay, good. Stale, probably, but toasting would fix that up quick, right? There was cheap, unsalted baking butter to go with the bread and wow, what a rip-roaring breakfast this was turning out to be. Belle nearly cried out in joy when she found the half-carton of eggs in the back. A quick dunk in a water glass proved that yep, not toxic yet, so this wasn’t a total disaster.

“I don’t cook much,” she babbled, trying to dig out a frying pan. “Not enough time, you know? I normally skip breakfast anyway. Except coffee. Obviously. I know, I know, ‘most important meal of the day,’ and all but… hey, do you even know that phrase? I mean, the meaning is there, but I guess that’s not a really a phrase for you. Back in… what was the name of your world again?”

Rumple didn’t answer and Belle didn’t press. The situation was catching up to her again— that blunt shock of _what have I gotten myself into?_ —and Belle used the silence to just breathe. Not cooking yet. Not thinking about how she just asked a man the name of his world. She stared at the eggs she’d cracked into a bowl and counted their yolks until her heart stopped pounding. Then she buttered the pan.

Belle could do this.

Early morning sun poured through her front windows, showing off all the lovely dust in the den (fantastic). Belle fried the eggs and tried not to fret about whether she should leave the yolk a little runny or not, whether it would be better to leave them plain or make up a sandwich. She didn’t fret about the shorts she’d slept in, how short-short they were, no doubt showing off the stretch marks on her upper thighs. Why would she care about that? She didn’t, just like she didn’t care about how she’d forgotten to take off her makeup last night, or that she didn’t have an extra toothbrush to offer Rumple, or that she had no idea where to go from here. Belle wielded her spatula with the determination of the desperate.

She would _not_ think about how this felt like the weirdest morning-after _ever_.

“One breakfast,” she announced, having settled on a sandwich. (Did Rumple know how to use utensils? Best to figure that out later…). Belle turned, expecting to see a nervous man huddled in her Dad’s giant green t-shirt.

Instead she found man staring in awe.

Belle didn’t have an island or anywhere good in her kitchen to sit and apparently the couch felt too far away because Rumple had settled comfortably on the floor, staring up at her with unabashed wonder. Rumple looked at Belle, _all_ of her—shitty college tee, chipped nail polish, frizzed out hair, smudge makeup, unshaved legs, and yes, those goddamn stretch marks—and still smiled like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege to see.

“You’re beautiful,” he said and it took Belle a good minute to realize he’d actually said that aloud. It wasn’t just in her head.

Wow.

“And you’re blunt,” she returned, setting the plate carefully on the floor. “In a good way.” They were smiling at one another, Rumple arching up, Belle leaning down, an egg sandwich cooling between them.

Belle had a sudden, intense desire to rest their foreheads together.

“Do you—” she started—

—and stopped. Saturday morning and her phone gave the most obnoxious squawk.

Of course. 


	7. Unwanted Outings

Dreams of a lazy Saturday morning were truly fantasies now. The shrill blast of her cell phone scared Rumple something awful—Belle too. She jumped, nearly kicking her hard-won sandwich off the plate, and by the time she’d recovered herself Rumple was back by the couch again. At least this time he’d stayed on top of it. Belle spared him a reassuring smile before she ran after him, trying to figure out where she’d tossed her damn cell. Bringing home a man-turned-dog sort of crowded out all those other concerns.

She finally found it under the table. Probably fell out when she’d tossed her purse there. Wonderful.

“Hello?” Belle gasped. She made what she hoped were soothing motions at Rumple.

“Belle.”

One word from Mary Margaret and Belle closed her eyes, knowing her Saturday was shot all to hell. She could hear it in her friend’s voice. Something about the undercurrent of strain there… as well as the shouting going on in the background.

It sounded suspiciously like their mayor.

“Regina,” Belle said, nearly growling it.

It sounded like Mary Margaret was trotting somewhere safe, probably trying to get out of earshot from the drama going on behind her. After a moment Belle heard a door click and Mary Margaret let out a breath. “Yeah. Who else? Look, do you want the short version or the long one?”

“I’d like the ‘doesn’t involve Belle getting dressed’ version if you’ve got it.”

“Sorry, that one’s not in stock…”

The following was a flurry of conversation interspersed with brief rants from Mary Margaret. Belle took those moments to scurry over to Rumple, trying to mouth something reassuring to him. However she was surprised—and proud—to see that he was no longer cowering. Rather Rumple was on the middle cushion, balanced on his knees, head cocked as he listened intently to half a conversation. Or maybe more? Could spending so long as a dog actually have improved his hearing?

Belle was so busy running through possibilities that she nearly missed Mary Margaret.

“What? Oh yeah, yeah, I’ll bring some…jeez…”

Now Rumple sat up further, looking like he wanted to rest his hands on something to balance. Unthinkingly Belle extended her free arm and Rumple lay both hands across it, pulling himself closer towards the phone. He was admiring it with a wary, but ultimately enthralled expression, nose twitching slightly like he was trying to see if the device created smells as well as noise. When Mary Margaret let out a particularly indignant squawk—her voice coming through loud and clear—Belle felt Rumple’s hands tightening over her arm. She immediately passed the phone to her chin and shoulder, using her free hand to sweep a thumb across his. 

“I hear you,” she finally sighed. “Look, this… really isn’t the best time, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just give me a bit to pull myself together, okay?”

More than okay. Mary Margaret signed off with a deluge of thanks, bringing a smile to Belle’s lips, but it was short lived when she hung up and returned to the man staring her down.

“You’re leaving?” Rumple asked and despite the lack of accusation there, those two words sort of broke Belle’s heart.

Wow she felt like an asshole.

“Just for a little while,” she rushed to say, then winced because who knew how long it would actually be. Not Belle. Not when it involved Regina. “You remember Mary Margaret? The one I mentioned last night, whose kids made the tiles in my bathroom?”

Rumple shook his head. He probably didn’t remember much of that conversation, shock and exhaustion would do that, so Belle gave a quick recap, keeping things as simple as possible for his sake. Mary Margaret was a teacher. Regina was their… leader, for lack of a better explanation (and damn if that didn’t leave an awful taste in Belle’s mouth). She’d been trying to sell off pieces of their town for years now, despite the public backlash, and no matter the pushback she had more than one developer eager to build in such a ‘quaint little town.’ But sometimes ‘quaint’ was code for ‘backwards’ and anyone investing wanted to know what they were getting—including the quality of the education for the rich kiddies of the rich, paying families. What it all boiled down to was that People with a capital ‘P’ were coming tomorrow and their tiny school needed some work.

“I’m just going to help Mary Margaret spruce the place up a bit. We can’t do anything about the paint and plumbing now, obviously, but we can make sure it’s clean at least. It won’t take long. I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“… if you don’t want Regina doing this… selling, why make the place look nice?”

Belle blinked. “That is an excellent question and I suppose the answer is ‘self preservation,’ but I like the way you think, Rumple.”

Sometime during all that Belle had settled onto the couch, Rumple curling into her side and nestling against the crook of her neck. Belle felt him smile at the compliment, then nod, though she was sure he’d only understood half of what she’d said. It left an awful little ache in her stomach, thinking of leaving him. Still, Belle forced herself back on her feet.

“This isn’t dealing. This is just us doing, okay?” and Belle set to work.

She could only imagine what it would be like, stuck in a house filled with foreign, sometimes terrifying things that had never been a part of your world. Yet she’d seen the fascination on Rumple’s face while she’d been on the phone, that eager spark to learn. The last thing Belle needed was him calling random strangers, but she could give him the next best thing.

“Television,” Belle said, waving the remote. “Welcome to the wondrous 21st century.”

Ten minutes later and Rumple understood the concept, or at least got that pressing this one button (now helpfully colored in with a sharpie) would change the pictures for him. Belle left him staring open-mouthed at her shitty hand-me-down and raced up the stairs, throwing on tights to cover unshaved legs, a skirt, wrinkle-free blouse, and pulling her unwashed hair into a messy ponytail. Belle tossed a piece of gum in her mouth and said ‘screw you’ to her normal heels. She raced back downstairs in flats.

“I’ve also got plenty of books,” she called from the kitchen, stuffing trash bags into her purse. When Rumple didn’t respond she poked her head out, just in time to catch a tender look flitting across his face.

“I…” he said eloquently, eyes skittering to the bookshelves. He looked guilty, _embarrassed_ under the flashing lights of the TV and in a rush Belle remembers. She wanted to kick herself.

He wasn’t from this world. He hadn’t been raised like her. He’d been a freaking _dog_. Making assumptions wouldn’t get Belle anywhere.

Something for her to agonize over later. For now it threw a wrench in her ‘write out directions for Rumple in case of emergency’ plan. Instead Belle wrote a large ‘9 1 1’ on a post-it and stuck in on Rumple’s chest, like a morbid name-tag. He let out a surprised ‘huff.’

“If something goes wrong,” she said, dumping the phone in his lap, “you press those three numbers, in that order. Someone will answer and help. But that’s only for something big. Like if you’re hurt. Okay?”

Rumple nodded again, expression serious and wonderfully open.

Honest too.

“What do I do if I miss you?” he asked.

Well fuck.

Belle swallowed. “You wait,” she said. “Or how about this, when the phone makes that sound again, the shrill one? Press the green button. I’ll be there.” No one else should be calling her today. She could do that at least.

It took another swallow and Belle turning away for her to compose herself. “I’m going to re-heat your sandwich.”

So three minutes later Rumple got shit reality TV, rubbery eggs, and a friend abandoning him in less than twenty-four hours. Belle took a chance and cupped her hands around his cheeks, letting out a giddy sigh when Rumple immediately leaned into her touch. Belle forgot it all and laid her forehead against his. There. That was right. 

“Tell me something,” she whispered. “About you. Something _important_.”

They were breathing in synch when Rumple said, “I was a spinner.”

“… thank you.”

Belle pulled back. Rumple dipped his head, cheeks a cheery red, picking up his sandwich pretty much on autopilot. Rubbery and old they might be, but Rumple’s expression exploded into bliss when he took a bite. He’d never tasted anything like this before. Eggs, sure, but not like _this_.

It was beautiful outside. Belle stepped onto the stoop and locked her door, throwing a light jacket over her shoulders as she turned towards the school. It could have been any other Saturday of her life.

But it wasn’t. As Belle dove into the world she had the image of a man’s blissful expression in her mind’s eye and she had every intention of hurrying back to the real thing.


	8. Full Circle

~Sometime in the near future~

Granny stared at this man—tentative yet smiling, dressed in an ill-fitting suit and a goddamn collar of all things, pushing bills across her counter and asking for a car—and had to take a moment to loosen her death grip on the baseball bat pressed against her leg. She counted backwards from ten and reminded herself that this man had a name, Rumple, and despite how much she might want to whack him for all he was insinuating, he hadn’t technically done anything wrong yet.

Storybrooke was small, but they weren’t that goddamn small. They still had a sheriff who could haul her ass into the single-cell jail for giving what was coming.

‘Assault,’ her mind corrected and Granny winced.

“I’m afraid we don’t sell cars here,” she said. If the guy understood sarcasm he didn’t show it.

“No I… I think I’m just supposed to borrow one? We don’t have much paper,” he patted the bills uncertainly, “but Belle said we could get more. As a ‘thank you.’ But I think everyone knows her, right? You know Belle? Don’t you lend or trade here?” Rumple ran hands down his pockets, presumably looking for something else to barter with. Granny’s eye twitched.

Which was precisely the moment when Archie set down his fork, despite still having more than half an omelet to work through, and approached the counter, a Pongo-less leash wrapped around his arm and a determined look in his eyes.

“Granny,” he said companionably. “Everything alright?”

Smart cookie he might be, but Archie wasn’t subtle. He knew she was in the wrong here, she knew that he knew, and the whole of it just set a headache brewing in the back of her skull. Hell, he’s the one she talked to about this twice a month. Shitty temper she inherited from a shitty childhood with a shittier dad. Granny didn’t like it, but she’d do it for Ruby (for herself even) and one look from Archie was enough for her to set the bat firmly back on its shelf.

Rumple blinked innocently across from her. It was too damn early for this.

“Fine,” she answer shortly, then waved Archie off when he tried to hand her a card; should know better by now. New boy talks about trade? Archie had done more for her than most in Granny’s life. He didn’t owe her a penny. This one though… she snatched the lot of bills, not bothering to count them. It was no doubt more than what she charged for a hamburger but whatever…

Archie gave her A Look which Granny pointedly ignored. She rang a bell and Ruby trotted out on heels, taking her order for one burger at the goddamn crack of dawn, gave Granny a Look of her own like it was her fault the boy had strange taste, caught sight of said boy, had to be shooed back into the kitchen where curiosity couldn’t get the best of her, and Archie was _still_ just standing there.

He was looking at the collar now too, the one peaking out from beneath Rumple’s shirt. He pursed his lips, just briefly, before extending his hand.

“Archie Hopper,” he said. “I presume you’re new in town?”

Rumple didn’t answer except for a nod. Granny watched in fascination as stared at Archie’s hand a long moment before tentatively extending his own. He didn’t look like he quite knew what to do with it until Archie took control, Rumple’s eyes widening comically at the touch. Then, suddenly, his face lit up in a smile.

“I’m Rumple,” he announced.

“So I’ve heard.” Archie was still looking him over and Granny let him, content to see where this went. Psychologist and most even tempered man in Storybrooke faced with what had to be one of strangest occurrences in, oh, a decade? Well, this Rumple was stranger than Ms. Regina Mills certainly, but not as dangerous, even if Archie was still keeping his distance.

He finally pulled off and polished his already spotless glasses. Granny narrowed her eyes.

“Well, Rumple, I hear you’re in need of a car?”

***

~Sometime in the recent past~

Belle slept deeply, like she hadn’t since she was a very young child—both parents nearby and nothing to worry about except what treats she might weasel out of them the next day, be it book or sweet. Her sleep was so deep that she wasn’t disturbed by a man curling at her feet, his newly-washed hair cushioned by her calf. His presence influenced her dreams though and Belle sank into a world more vivid than she would have imagined, had she been awake to analyze it.

As it was, Belle accepted everything at face value. Exactly as you do in dreams.

She was walking in a forest, barefoot, dressed in her sleepwear. Belle looked around and noted the heavy fog in the air, the rustling leaves that spoke of wind, and a part of her mind insisted that she should be cold, though she didn’t feel it. Belle couldn’t feel the twigs beneath her feet either. Or the dewdrops raising the hairs on her arm. Belle walked forward mechanically as a bead of nervous sweat began trickling down her neck and chest.

She felt ethereal. Out of place. Then Belle stepped and she was somewhere else entirely.

“I know this,” she said to the trees. Her eyes trained on the bridge. It was somehow familiar in all its differences.

These plants were like the plants at home, but they’d grown far taller and broader—signs of age. This bridge had more decay than hers, many of its stones long turned to dust. The stream was dry and in its place was underbrush so thick that nothing could possibly live here. Certainly not a dog.

Belle blinked. “Rumple,” she whispered and then swayed, her body jerking as if, paradoxically, waking from sleep.

“Am I dreaming?” she asked the mist.

From beneath the bridge came rustling, leaves pulling back and something charging out. Belle lifted her eyes and found herself staring into the face of a friend.

Belle swallowed, trying to get her mind to focus. “I know you—”

“You don’t,” they hissed, voice tight and barely controlled. “What are you doing…? No. Just go. Quickly! There’s too much darkness here.”

“Darkness?” Belle shook her head. The mist was white and the deep red of fires glowed off in the distance. What darkness?

Her friend was approaching now. Rabid movements, too quick to be anything other than the product of a dream.

“You’re no use to us if she finds you here,” they said. “It’s too early. Go back to him. _Now_ , Belle.”

“Rumple…” she whispered again.

“ _Wake up!_ ”

Belle’s body jerked, rising too quickly out of sleep. She felt her limbs heavy beneath the duvet, her brow furrowed. She’d been dreaming… hadn’t she? The images were already indistinct though. All Belle was left with was the fierce, reassuring feeling that this was where she was supposed to be. Right here. Right now.

Belle opened her eyes and met brown down at her feet.

“Morning,” she said.


	9. Anticipation

Rumple wasn’t scared. Not exactly.

He knew what fear was, had experienced it all his life. He knew that there were synonyms to describe the types of fear he felt at certain points, helping him evaluate just how bad things actually were:

Panic came when he’d received his summons for war. It was fierce and sudden and short lived, lasting no longer than it took his fingers to trace the unfamiliar words— ‘ogres’ and ‘witch.’ ‘Fight.’

Terror hit him during the battles. It left his breath short and locked his knees. There was some sort of strength in terror though, something he’d never found in panic. Terror helped Rumple lift that hammer high above his head.

Dismay was softer. There was still fear, yes, but it was nearly overpowered by awful resignation. Rumple associated dismay with Milah. She used to craft it within him like a fine weave.

And dread was pervasive. Dread was what Rumple lived with each and every day, waiting to see what and when something else would hit. Dread might as well be his only friend.

… except Belle.

This was different. Sitting on Belle’s couch, his stomach filled with her food, surrounded by objects he didn’t understand but were hers… it was scary, yes, yet thrilling too. There was another emotion simmering beneath the fear that mixed it all together, making Rumple experience something he wasn’t sure he could name. He thought he might know what the second emotion was though; something he hadn’t felt since he was a very small child.

Rumple thought it might be hope.

He startled, looking down in shock at his lap. The couch was a safe space now and Rumple had curled up there after finishing his sandwich, pulling the inviting throw off the top and onto his legs. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there—how long Belle had been gone—but apparently it was long enough for him to cause trouble. He now had only half of a tightly woven blanket to cuddle with—the rest was loose yarn. He’d anxiously pulled it apart without even realizing it.

“Oh no,” Rumple moaned.

It wasn’t an Awful thing, not even a Terrible thing, but it was Bad. As much as he wanted Belle to walk back through that door Rumple didn’t want her to see this. To be mad at him. He couldn’t put it back together again without the right tools and time and even if he had those, his fingers shook now, like thin, pale worms trying to burrow back into hiding. It was an inviting idea and Rumple shoved the fragments down beneath the cushions before he could think better of it. The blanket he threw from his lap onto the floor.

Bad dog.

Had it been easier, being a dog with Belle? In some ways. He liked not needing to talk to her, disappointing her with words. All Rumple had needed to do to was exist, his simplest actions somehow ‘cute’ and ‘brave’ in her eyes, pleasing her. It was a lie, but a rather enticing one, and Rumple could no longer reap its benefits. Despite their kind parting he couldn’t help but think that Belle would realize it soon. All of it: that she didn’t know him. Had no reason to keep him.

“Especially when I destroy her things,” he whispered.

Rumple didn’t know what to do with himself. Back in the woods, under his bridge, he never imagined that there was a world like this just minutes away. He’d sensed that he’d landed somewhere… odd, but nothing like this. Rumple’s guilt was smothered by amazement once more. The seat beneath him was so soft, softer than anything he’d ever managed to make, and if his hands hadn’t been so bent on destroying it, Rumple would have admired the blanket too. The room here was so bright and the bath last night had been so warm and everything was so-so-so with Belle. So nice. So new.

Rumple slid until he was lying on his side, knees pulled up to his chest and head pillowed beneath both hands. He thought about sleeping… but Rumple remembered frightening dreams the night before. It’s what had woken him and caused him to seek out Belle, crawling into her bed with a courage born only of fear. There was no Belle to sooth him now, so instead Rumple turned his attention to the box with the moving pictures. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but it was comforting in its own way. Like this world was pulling all its unfamiliar, scary things into the box, where they clearly weren’t real. He watched as these people who looked nothing like him did… something. There were weapons and strange machines and sometimes shots of the stars that looked like the bath Belle had drawn him.

Then Rumple sat up again because one of them _did_ look like him.

They had similar builds (though Rumple was thinner) and near identical faces (though the man’s was harder). Rumple found himself leaning forward, trying to follow the story, and he released an unexpected grin when someone addressed the man as “Rush.” They _both_ had names that started with that rolling sound. Rush’s voice had a deep purr to it too, almost like a growl, and Rumple wanted to thump a long-lost tail because this man would have made a good dog, he was sure. Better than him.

Rumple leaned even further, one hand actually touching the floor, head cocked curiously at what Rush was saying.

“ _But I can tell you that fear… well, it’s just one of those things in this world that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re truly alive_.”

Rumple sucked in a slow, deep breath.

He was afraid… he was alive. Alive with Belle.

Eyes still glued to the box, Rumple reached until his fingers found fraying yarn, tugging the blanket back into his lap. He covered his legs and his bare feet, pulling the blanket all the way up to his chin. He sort of wanted to chew on it, but he’d ruined it enough, hadn’t he? Maybe Belle would be mad. Kick him out or even _kick_ him kind of mad. Rumple didn’t think she would (Belle was _so_ nice), but he could never be sure, and he covered himself with that familiar dread just as much as he did the blanket.

Rumple watched Rush and loyally waited for Belle to come home.

As he did that mix of emotions rose up within him again—fear and hope and something tender—but this time Rumple thought he could give a name to it.

Anticipation.


	10. Wits About You

Belle made it to the school in record time, her feet loving the lack of her usual heels and her body feeling limber from a good night’s sleep. The best she’d had in years, really, and Belle smiled reflexively up at the sun. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all. She’d hurry through whatever Mary Margaret needed her help with and get back home fast, ready to teach Rumple all about her world and his potential, maybe start in on some letters or something since he didn’t know how to—

—Belle stopped.

If Rumple couldn’t read, how did he finish that odd quote on the back of his tags?

And wasn’t that strange: that a dog could turn into a man, a set of tags could imprint with Belle’s address, and then they could melt away between her fingers…yet what she found most fascinating was those words pouring from Rumple’s lips. Thinking back, he’d spoken them as if in a trance, like he’d known them long before she’d tilted the tags his way.

Belle gnawed at her lower lip, trying to remember. “To break chains… such an act is—”

“Belle!”

She jerked, finding that her feet had taken her straight to the school’s front doors. Mary Margaret was already there, one hand pressed to the small of her back and the other wiping sweat from her brow. It wasn’t that hot out and the movement sent Belle into a jog the rest of the way, concern for her friend blocking out all else.

“You shouldn’t be up, Snow,” Belle groused, already taking some of her weight. Mary Margaret just slapped her good-naturedly.

“I’m fine. And stop calling me that.”

“Never.”

“Never ever?”

It was such a kiddie kind of conversation that Belle laughed, settling Mary Margaret onto one of the kid-sized benches in the entryway. She sat heavily, arms automatically wrapping around her stomach.

She should be due any week now, not that Belle was counting the days. Still, Mary Margaret was one of Belle’s closest friends here and, up until a certain muddy mutt walked into her life, the only one she really had to worry about. Ruby was a firecracker of independence—and she’d gotten only half of that from Granny. She knew David only by proxy, Archie literally kept this town somewhat sane, Regina…

Well.

Needless to say, Mary Margaret was the one Belle could dote on, and with a baby on the way those protective instincts had doubled.

They’d never expected to have another baby this late, or one at all after the drama with Emma, and Belle was keenly aware of where all her energy would be going if a certain pup wasn’t stealing it away.  

Belle pressed her other hand to Mary Margaret’s stomach, as if in apology.

“I’ve got at least another two weeks,” she said, her mind still on reassuring Belle. “Say what you want about Dr. Whale’s bedside manner, the man knows his field at least.”

“Yes,” Belle drawled. “The small town doctor who is an obstetrician, pediatrician, and general practitioner all rolled into one.”

“… we make do.”

It could have come out lighter, should have come out lighter, but Mary Margaret’s voice trailed off into something hard, and Belle looked up to find Regina leaning in the doorway.

She looked about as well as when Belle had last seen her, about two weeks before when she’d entered the library just long enough to tell Belle no, there wouldn’t be enough budget to finance more desktops for the kids. Regina had quickly spun that into more justification for her expansion, like Belle didn’t know that Storybrooke wasn’t already, barely sustaining itself.

But like Mary Margaret had said, they made do.

That was actually the first day she’d gone into the woods, desperate to get away from it all, Regina included. She didn’t even hate the woman—Belle wasn’t sure she’d ever hated anyone—but Regina’s single-minded, selfish drive reminded her too much of her father: pushing and pulling in an endless, desperate attempt to get ahead. It’s what had finally led them here. Why he’d opened a flower shop of all things, kindling a love of nature within Belle that she hadn’t know was there, always drawn too strongly by the smell of paper and the creak of leather; books her first and few friends. It had been a relief to stumble out into the trees lining her property, with nothing more than a packed lunch and her wits.

Belle lost her lunch to a very hungry dog she’d found cowering beneath the bridge. Some might even say she’d lost her wits that day too.

“Well?”

Regina was tapping an impatient rhythm against the door. This beautiful weather and she was still bundled all in black, black hair to match… even black smudges under her eyes. Belle rose to her feet with something that resembled concern. Instinctually, she offered a hand to Mary Margaret.

She waved Belle off. “Let’s just get started,” she said, not bothering to even look at Regina.

“Unless you’d like Mrs. Locant to see the place as a filthy, disorganized mess… Oh wait, that’s exactly what you want.”

As always, Regina’s words were clipped and to the point, suffused with just enough sarcasm to bite. Apparently Mrs. Locant was the head of the little group arriving tomorrow. Belle didn’t think expanding Storybrooke was inherently a bad thing, though she could understand the natives’ resistance. They might have been willing to find a middle ground if _Regina_ was more willing.

What raised Belle’s hackles more than the idea of identical houses or a restaurant chain was the woman’s attitude. Regina watched Mary Margaret waddle past her with a piercing look that forced Belle’s mouth open. She only managed to click it shut again by sheer will.

Belle made to follow Mary Margaret into the school. A manicured hand stopped her, pressed hard against her chest.

Regina smiled. “Just a moment, Ms. French. What’s this I hear about you getting a dog?”


	11. The March

Rumple slept.

He hadn’t meant to—he’d just gotten up—but apparently shape shifting and discovering an entirely different world from your own took its toll on a person—or a dog. By the time the Rush guy was gone Rumple’s eyes were slipping shut. He’d curled further and further into the couch, eventually giving up on periodically sitting to glance at the door, wondering if _this_ was the moment when Belle would finally come home. But Rumple’s clothes were the softest he’d ever worn, the blanket wonderfully heavy, even the bits he’d frayed tickled his chin. A few strands worked their way into Rumple’s mouth and he chewed them, unconsciously.

He was sure there would be trouble when Belle got back, but he did want her back, and that ache was getting too strong for Rumple to ignore. At least sleep would abate it for a bit. It’s what he did in the forest: slipping into a deep void whenever he got too hungry or cold or endlessly scared. That had been something alright—waking up to the smells of diner food and human, Belle crouched tentatively at the entrance to his den. Rumple could still see the mud that had splattered all over her pretty red tights, hear the whistle she let out low in the back of her throat, like someone calling him to—

_—attention!” and Rumple cowered back._

_It wasn’t a general, they didn’t really have generals, just a man larger and louder than him, finding fun in tormenting the spinner._

_It was only when the burly man passed that Rumple realized he’d stepped back into a puddle of mud, thinned by cold rainwater. He shivered, the mush soaking into the pants they’d given him, thin, threadbare things he never would have sold in his own wares. Rumple didn’t know if it was luck of the draw or some sort of fate, but everyone in his regiment was a smith, a logger, an equestrian… he seemed the only one here who’d gone into a humble trade, his body unsuited for war._

_Picking himself up, Rumple continued his march._

_He’d been so excited, a foreign sense of purpose flooding through him when he’d received the summons, beautifully painted words he’d asked their school teacher to read for him. The scroll conjured up a history that Rumple was already familiar with: Ogre Wars, the type that had raged for generations and might well rage for generations more. The difference was that now these mindless beasts had a commander. The fall of Regina the Great and the rise of The Wicked Queen was a story that had spread like wildfire across the lands. She commanded them now, not trying to conquer or vanquish… just ravage, destroying everything she could in her wake._

_At least that was the tale they told. If it was true, Rumple felt for their queen. He sometimes wanted to destroy things too, but the farthest Rumple had ever gotten was breaking a pot or a spool… then the feeling left him, like a thin mist dissipating from a breeze. How Regina could sustain that, he didn’t know._

_Must be love._

_Rumple would dearly like someone to love. He didn’t mind admitting that in the back of his mind, not when those thoughts were the brightest, warmest things he had available to him, especially now. They kept him sane. Milah might have grown sick of him just two months before they were to marry, he might not have any kids to speak of (that would have been proof of her love, that would have been the sweetest thing), but maybe, just maybe, if Rumple braved the ogres and the Queen and managed to survive it all…_

_Maybe he’d be worth something then._

_People might not love him, but they might let him love them. At least a little. That would be worth any war._

_But all that was far in the future, as distant as any dream, and for now Rumple was left trudging across endless fields, heading towards an almost certain death._

_He wasn’t a fool after all. He had no training and certainly no magic. Those few who stumbled back from the front lines claimed that if you survived the ogres, the Queen’s purple haze would get you next. Like an awful story you told your children at night, it blanketed a regiment in moments, those witnesses claiming that the only thing that ever emerged were screams and gurgles. When the haze cleared the soldiers’ bodies were torqued in horrifying ways. Their skin was blue. Sometimes they never showed up at all—and they were considered the lucky ones._

_Rumple felt his pants clinging to his shins, his breath ragged with each inhale of the cold air. Who was he kidding. Love? Honor? You had to fight for those, and Rumple was so very scared._

_He kept marching forward though, not because he was brave, but because he was too scared to go back._

_There was nothing waiting for him back there. So Rumple took one step, then another._

_And as he did he gripped tight to the tags around his neck—the ones identifying him as one poor soldier amongst many._


	12. Frozen Moments

Belle blinked, trying to keep her face as passive, as innocent as humanly possible. It shouldn’t have been as hard as it was. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong. Regina might have fostered off a number of laws onto Storybrooke, but time served for housing a magical dog-man sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

“Dog?” she said, blinking again. Regina had a shark’s grin. Belle sometimes envied her ability to conjure one up like that.

“Yes, Ms. French. You should know by now that word travels fast in such a small town. I do hope you’re not venturing too far into those woods. It can be dangerous out there…”

Maybe it was the sudden inclusion of Rumple in her life, but Belle’s mind immediately jumped to fairy tales, like she was Little Red Riding Hood; a small, vulnerable kid who actually had something to fear from the forest.

Which she supposed made Regina the wolf.

“I’m afraid he passed,” she said, enjoying Regina’s brief look of shock. “Exposure. I never expected him to last long, just wanted to make him as comfortable as I could.” Belle shrugged, like this was something easy.

“How noble of you,” Regina murmured. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sure you are.”  

And that, right there, was the farthest she could push. Belle might not like Regina, but she couldn’t afford to truly piss her off either. So she side-stepped politely, chin held high as she walked into the school. Regina didn’t follow, though her voice traveled far enough on its own.

“I pay you to man the library, Ms. French, not go on adventures,” and Belle’s lips twisted. “… but perhaps you’ll find another dog someday.”

_No thanks, I’m happy with the one I have._

***

“So what exactly are we trying to accomplish here?”

Belle sat atop Mary-Margaret’s desk, shoes thrown on the floor and her heels kicking against the wood. She felt so _big_ from up here. All those tiny desks and chairs. It was the same feeling she’d had when, at sixteen, she’d returned to her favorite jungle-gym, that child-like thrill rising up at the prospect of play… only to snuff out, Belle realizing that it was all too small for her now. Just another way she’d finally grown up. 

Guess she wasn’t _quite_ Little Red anymore.

At least Belle had gotten to experience that change. Rumple, as far as she knew, had never set foot inside a school. She couldn’t imagine that. Cultural—hell, _world_ differences aside… Belle wasn’t sure she wanted to.

She looked to her friend and found some relief. “Snow?”

“What did Regina want?” she asked, ignoring Belle’s own question. Mary Margaret was sorting markers in an already organized bin. Belle rolled her eyes.

“Nothing you need to be stressing over.”

“Subtle, Belle.”

Another eye-roll. “Really. It was just about a dog—”

“The one you found in the woods?”

“You _know_?”

“Everyone knows.”

Belle threw up her hands. “Then there’s _really_ really nothing to say. Regina was just trying to rattle me, like always. Can we please do something now so I can actually get back to my Saturday?”

More like get back to Rumple. Belle didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone too long. Not that she thought he’d get in trouble, just… he’d get lonely.

Belle didn’t want that.

“C’mon,” she insisted. “Mrs. Locant is arriving whether we want her to or not.”

Mary Margaret straightened, hands pressed to her lower back and probably holding it together. “I honestly don’t know,” she sighed. “I think the classrooms are already pretty decent—”

“Uh, yeah.” Nothing but spick and span in Mrs. Nolan’s domain.

“—shut up. Regina splurged— _I know, right?_ —to get the cafeteria and bathrooms cleaned. All that really leaves is the lab, theater, and grounds.”

Belle immediately dismissed the last. They weren’t mowing the grass or, god forbid, trying to fill in the hundreds of holes chipmunks had left in their soccer field. Mrs. Locant and her cronies would just have to get used to small town resources.

Belle took another moment to picture Mary Margaret wiping down counters vs. hefting stage materials… and pointed sternly towards the science lab.

“Have fun washing beakers,” she said sweetly. “What a colossal waste of our time.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Mary Margaret rubbed at the back of her neck. “When I’m done I can—”

Belle wagged a finger. “No, no, no. You’ll go home and rest. Beakers. Counters. Nothing more. Let me take care of the glorified dress-up box.”

Mary Margaret smiled. “Alright. And thanks. Lunch afterwards?”

“Rain check. Sorry.”

Belle waved her off before she could start interrogating her. “Try to have some fun, Snow.”

“Quit calling me Snow!”

Mary Margaret went though, waddling off… and Belle was finally able to let out the breath she’d been holding since she arrived. Only an hour in and already her day felt like a week.

The classroom was so quiet now. Tiny chairs. Scratched desks. The smell of chalk and cheap Febreze. With no one to distract her, questions of her own swarmed quick around Belle again… What was Rumple’s world like? How could she make sense of those tags? When would Mary Margaret give birth? What would Storybrooke be like if Regina expanded? Where did she go from here? What did she _do_?

Belle wanted… no, _needed_ to know everything.

She breathed out again. But she didn’t have answers yet, and obsessing just made her feel calculating—which in turn made her feel like Dad. Not that he’d have known how to handle this any better. What a strange, wonderful mess. It was like two worlds were collapsing in on themselves, intermingling, and Belle was stuck somewhere in the middle.

…except not ‘like.’ She supposed it was happening literally, the merging of her world and Rumple’s… with a little bit of Regina’s vision trying to force its way in. In moments like this, truly alone, it all had a damn good foothold for drowning her, a tidal wave of worry and possibilities.

Belle took in a third, final breath. “Don’t deal, just do stuff,” she whispered, trying to take her own advice. Right. She’d start by sprucing up the theater.

Than back to Rumple.

Pushing off the desk, Belle knocked a picture frame, nearly sending it to the floor. She caught it just in time. Turning it, Belle found a snapshot of David, Mary Margaret, and Emma outside the library clock tower. Emma couldn’t have been older than six when it was taken, long before Belle’s time. It really was a perfect glimpse of the past: everything from their smiles to the clock itself, frozen.

It had taken nearly a month of friendship with Mary Margaret for her to even mention Emma. Her teenage daughter… one of the few to ever leave Storybrooke.

Belle placed the picture carefully back on the desk, turning it towards Mary Margaret’s chair. Her fingertips briefly caressed their faces. Who knew, maybe Emma would come back someday.

Certainly stranger things had happened.  


	13. Down the Line

_It was never going to end. Rumple understood that now._

_Their march had continued for weeks, edging them ever closer to the fresh battlegrounds… and new death. Every morning Rumple awoke to his face planted in the dirt, the smell of exhausted soldiers, urine, ogre flesh, and the hot scent of magic mixing to make him retch. No one paid him any mind in these moments, on his knees and gagging pitifully. They were all past teasing, even teasing the spinner._

_On the worst mornings, when he found his rationed bread maggot filled or his boots still soaked from the night before, Rumple tried to picture Milah, the only bit of light he had left in this dark world… but even her face had faded in the recent months. Or rather, he could no longer conjure the smile she had given him on their wedding day, only the look of disgust she’d held when he left._

_Right foot, left. Right, left, right. Rumple trudged on with no other hope or purpose except to stay on his feet. Die here, not there. Now die over there instead. Just keep moving forward. Honor? Love? He’d been a fool to ever imagine them. The only thing waiting for Rumple was a horrifying end somewhere ahead of him._

_Right, left, right. Stumble. Left, right, left. Right, left—_

_“Spinner!”_

_—right, left. Right—_

_“Rumplestiltskin!”_

_The name finally brought him up short. His name, except that it sounded foreign to Rumple’s ears… too long… with no real meaning to it… yet he knew, logically, that it was his own. Thoughts muddled, Rumple pulled his gaze away from the dead grass and finally spotted what had halted the rest of his party._

_“Gods preserve us,” he whispered._

_There were no gods here though. Nothing but what they had so foolishly sought out: an army of ogres and a wall of purple magic at their back._

_It was far worse than anything he’d ever imagined. Nothing like what the summons had said. This was insanity. Rumple took an instinctual step backwards, his thin boot hitting a rock that twisted his ankle. With a wince and a stagger he was falling, only an instant from hitting the ground and—_

—and Rumple sat up with a start, his cry drowned out by the shrieking noise to his left.

Heaving, he took a moment to orient himself, wildly cataloguing the strange walls and the clothes that he wore. This wasn’t a soldier’s garb, or the long sweeps of a battlefield. Rumple extended a shaking hand and thread fingers into a soft blanket, revealing an edge that had begun to unravel. He’d done that, hadn’t he? Yes, yes he had, and he’d been scared that…

“Belle,” Rumple whispered. He closed his eyes. “That Belle will be mad at me.”

It was such a strange wash of emotions. The fear hit him again, but it was quickly overrun by pure relief; the knowledge that Belle was still out there somewhere, preparing to return to him. Gripping his knees, still shaking, a small voice in the back of Rumple’s head asked, _Well yes, but what if she_ doesn’t _come back?_ and the horrible words had just registered when that shrieking started up again.

Rumple’s head snapped to the left. It was the weird tool Belle had laid out, lighting up now and causing all sorts of noise. Sleep-addled and scared, Rumple wanted to dismiss it as just another strange thing he knew nothing about… except that he did recognize it. He’d heard that sound when Belle had spoken with her friend. The magic communication tool that, supposedly, wasn’t magic at all.

_When the phone makes that sound again, press the green button. I’ll be there._

Rumple blinked, then lunged for the object. His hand slammed down on lots of buttons, but mostly the green.

“There you are!” and just like that he was elated. Belle’s voice had appeared, like a heavenly apparition, sweet and ethereal in the air around him. Rumple shut his eyes again, not quite understanding the ecstasy that rushed through him… but not questioning it either.

He needed to be closer to her. Miming what he’d seen her do that morning, Rumple lifted the tool—the phone—up to his ear. He could hear even her breathing now and Rumple’s mouth slowly fell open, amazed.

“I can hear you,” he whispered.

“Yes, that’s kind of the point,” Belle said, chuckling. There was an undercurrent to her tone though that Rumple couldn’t name. “I’ve been calling you for a while. Everything okay? I worried you couldn’t remember how to answer the phone or…ah…” he heard her take in a deep breath. “Or that you’d left.”

“That I—?” Rumple stopped suddenly, sitting back. That he _what_? That didn’t make any sense. Why would he _leave_? After all, Belle had explicitly told him to stay, and he didn’t want to leave this place regardless. Rumple would have followed her out the door if she’d allowed it, loyally stationed at Belle’s heels. To think that he’d abandon her was absurd and confusing and… and _wrong_. So wrong that Rumple felt himself starting to shake again, this time in disbelief.

“Rumple?”

“No,” he managed, voice tight. “I didn’t leave.”

“Oh. Of course. I can see that. Or, hear that. I guess. I’m glad, you know…geez I’m just rambling now, I’m sorry.”

She shouldn’t be sorry. Belle had nothing to be sorry for, ever. Her voice sounded so much like his right now—tentative, a little scared—and though he didn’t think it suited her, Rumple cherished it as another connection between them, pressing the phone tight against his cheek and lying back down. With his other hand, he guided the blanket back up to his chin.

They basked in silence for a while, just knowing that the other was there.

“What are you doing?” Belle finally asked, quiet.

“I was sleeping, watching your box… what are _you_ doing?”

“Picking you out a present.”

She couldn’t know what those words did to him, of course, but blocks away Rumple had slapped a hand over his mouth, unwilling to let the gasp escape. His whole body had begun to vibrate, excited energy overtaking the trembling from just moments before.

A present? Surely she was joking. Or maybe the word meant something different here, because he’d only known Belle a little while and he was the one who owed _her_. Everything. She wouldn’t give him more… would she? Rumple’s father had never gotten him a gift—any money and trinkets of theirs went towards the cards, the roll of the dice—and he’d been given food years ago, but that was standard of any marriage in his village. Rumple stared hard at the phone, like he might see Belle there too. He needed her face right now because he didn’t quite understand her words. What did he say?   
  
Luckily, Belle seemed to get it. Her light laugh traveled over the line and straight through him. I sent a shiver down Rumple’s spine.

“Don’t overthink it. Look, I’ll be home soon. Just be good until then, okay?”

Good. There was that word again.

Rumple hadn’t been a good man. A good dog, sure… but where did that leave him now? How could he possibly be good enough for food and a roof, company, presents, _Belle_?

Belle. He’d just have to do it for Belle.

“Yes,” Rumple murmured, eyes scanning the room. He sat up, head cocked and alert as he took in everything around him. “I’ll be good, Belle. Promise.”


	14. Departure

_~Sometime in the near future~_

There was a bit of a three-way standoff occurring in Granny’s diner.

Granny herself remained behind the counter, face pinched and expression sour. Archie awkwardly smoothed down his tie, wondering how he went about actually _offering_ his car since this guy didn’t appear very apt at picking up on social cues.

And Rumple sat between them, looking for too chipper for this time of the morning.

From his perspective though, the morning was wonderful, following an even more perfect day tucked away in Belle’s house. This was the first time he’d ventured out, Belle fussing over him going off alone, but all Rumple had needed to do was remind her that he was an adult, even a tentative one… though lost in a still furiously new world…with little understanding of the culture here… but _still_. Rumple had been thrilled looking at it all, everything he’d missed when Belle had first bustled him into town.

The people here were all gorgeous in their colored clothing, curled hair, the rich smells Rumple caught wafting from their skin. He saw not stalls but whole buildings devoted to selling goods, paved streets, tall structures shining with lights that weren’t quite fire, and the carriages—cars—that Belle said they’d need to reach their destination. It was a long walk, she said, and she didn’t want to tire him out. Especially with his leg.

Rumple beamed up at his new companions. That was Belle, in case they didn’t know: heartfelt and _so_ very kind.

The other woman came trotting out from the back again, her heels clicking and hips swaying to a beat only she could hear. She carried a wonderful smelling bag that she passed off to Granny, and Granny in turn gave to him. Rumple immediately tucked the food into his lap, trying not to get lost in the heady scent of the burger, the fries that Belle had introduced him to weeks ago, warm against his legs. She’d given him cereal this morning and wonderful as it was, Rumple couldn’t help his preference for the first meal they’d shared together.

“There’s your food,” Granny announced, giving him a look that Rumple couldn’t quite decipher. Archie moved closer, his hand out pacifyingly.

“And here are my keys,” he murmured, though he stopped just short of dropping them into Rumple’s palm. “It’s the black sedan out back and… I’m sorry if this seems rude, but do you actually know how to drive?”

“I do!”

Everyone in the diner turned, Rumple most of all—nearly falling off the stool as he tried to twist and jump up simultaneously. The cane he’d leaned against the counter clattered noisily to the floor. His too-long sleeves engulfed his fluttering hands, his shirt fell open as he leaned forward eagerly, revealing another glimpse of the collar. Rumple vibrated with energy and, had they been able, his ears would have perked up in sheer bliss.

“ _Belle_ ,” he whispered and let the grin take over his face.

She was dressed for the outdoors. Gone were her traditional heels, her skirts, her tights and blouses, and in their place Belle had donned a pair of ratty jeans, sneakers, and a fleece blazer, the brightest article of clothing in canary yellow. She had her thick hair pulled back in a sensible ponytail and the diner stared, having never seen their librarian look so _practical_ before. It was somewhat unnerving.

Rumple stared too, though mostly because he just thought she was beautiful.

“Hey,” Belle said, her tone echoing Rumple’s instinctually. She jogged forward and in seconds had her hand in his hair, an odd gesture that resided somewhere between a ruffle and the kind of pat you’d give to a dog. Granny felt her eyebrows inching up at such a blatantly intimate display. Archie’s furrowed in professional—and personal—concern. Belle seemed to be deliberately ignoring their reactions, her free hand sneaking out to snatch the keys before Archie could take them back.

“I see you’ve met Rumple,” she said brightly. A little _too_ brightly. Such exuberance couldn’t hide the fact that Rumple had pressed his head firmly into her palm and was shifting slightly back and forth, practically purring. Belle tightened her fingers and let her smile grow, a little desperate. “Rumple Gold. He’s the owner of the dog I found, just passing through, staying at my place for a bit—” Belle snapped her mouth shut at the look Granny gave her and her hand snatched back, guiltily wringing the other. Babbling in front of the town psychologist and grandma really wasn’t her finest decision.

“Belle,” Granny growled. Her eyes moved from the collar to the guilty girl’s face.

“Oh, a hamburger!” Belle said, also too loud. She took the bag and helped Rumple fully to his feet, trying her hardest to ignore the awed grip on her arm. “Perfect for lunch. Did you get me one? No—? Oh no, it’s alright we’ll just share—ahhh…” Belle trailed off again at Granny’s bug-eyed expression. Of course sharing food would be more intimate to her than even living together. Feeling like she was floundering, needing to do something with her hands other than touch Rumple, Belle dumped the contents of the bag out and quickly unwrapped the cooling burger.

Keep the mood light. Keep it innocent. Belle grabbed the nearest bottle—ketchup, the plastic cool and sticky in her hand—and dumped a generous amount on the patty, quickly reconstructing the burger as Rumple looked on, enthralled by even the smallest of things.

“Condiments,” she said, oddly breathless. “They’re this world’s most powerful magic.”

“Belle.”

Archie sounded like he was torn among confusion, horror, and amusement, which he was, for their normally contained librarian was fairly thrumming with nervous energy. It wasn’t just due to her strange friend either, he was sure. Whilst juggling food, cane, keys, and a clinging man, Belle continually shot glances out the diner window, like she expected someone unwanted to appear at any moment. Which itself made no sense. Belle was friends with everyone in Storybrooke… with the exception of perhaps Regina.

Archie blinked. “Are avoiding that committee?”

“Me? No. Well… maybe. I already handled more lice-ridden clothes for Regina than I ever wanted to deal with, okay?” Belle looked marginally guilty, though her shrug remained determined. “She can handle her guests if she wants to sell out the town so bad, right? I’m allowed to enjoy my Sunday. Speaking of, Rumple…?”

It was obvious she was trying to herd him towards the door, needing to get to… wherever it was they were going. Archie watched Granny shake her head in a shocked manner, Ruby smirk, Belle jangled his keys in thanks and—

Rumple surged forward at the last moment, quickly running a hand through Archie’s hair like Belle had done for him, seconds before.

“Thank you,” he said, “for the car!” And the two of them were all energy as they slipped out the door. They reminded Archie of bumbling, newborn puppies.

“Well that was fascinating,” he murmured.

Granny scoffed and turned it into a cry. “Fascinating my ass! That girl’s got some explaining to do when she gets back…”

Which was, of course, working under the assumption that Belle would come back at all.


	15. Formal Ghosts

Belle was done with this stupid task. The theater and the rest of the school was clean enough—screw these visitors if they needed things perfect, spotless… they wouldn’t find that in Storybrooke—and Mary Margaret was on her way home again, happily complaining about her feet and encouraging Belle to feel the baby kicking once more, just _once_ before the day was done. So she’d dutifully pressed her hand against Mary Margaret’s swollen belly, laughing along that she shouldn’t press _too_ hard near her bladder, lest she cause an accident. Belle was only a little bit teary as she carefully discovered a kick.

 

It wasn’t just that things were changing. Or even the usual, overwhelming joy of a friend having a kid. No. Maybe it was her talk with Rumple, his oddly child-like nature and Belle’s own assertion that he should try to be good, but catching sight of Mary Margaret in the lab only reminded Belle that she’d wanted kids too. Once upon a time. Long before her Father had broken the family and they’d moved to a place too small for such things. After all, there was no one here suitable for Belle.

 

 _Except for Rumple_ , a traitorous voice whispered. Belle shook it away. Their bond (and oh god was there a bond, stronger than she’d ever felt before, as terrifying as it was indulgent) was currently innocent, and Belle had no intention of changing that, not when such a large part of that connection was a feeling of responsibility. She’d spent hours caring for Rumple as if he were a literal pet. It wasn’t her fault—how could she have known different?— but it had left her with a sense of protection, even superiority, much as she hated to admit that. This was compounded by the fact that Rumple was a strange guest in her world, almost entirely dependent on Belle for safety, resources, support... too much like how a child relies on his Mom. She didn’t begrudge him these things. Far from it... but the idea of starting anything while not on equal footing sent Belle’s stomach into turmoil.

 

“And you don’t even know if _Rumple_ is interested. Or what’s going on in this town anymore...”

 

Belle muttered to herself as she crossed the street, feeling strangely run down from her short trip. She was used to corralling young kids all day, dusting high shelves and carrying loads, but for whatever reason the simple act of cleaning had left her exhausted. Or maybe that was just the act of being separated from Rumple.

 

Belle wasn’t questioning such things anymore. That inescapable pull to return to him. Maybe then the ache in her back would ease up and her vision would stop swimming.

 

Wait... what?

 

Things seemed fuzzy all of the sudden. Soft like a peach. It was the general blurriness that made Belle think she was seeing things. Well, she _was_ seeing things... a fog descending, despite the fact that it was as beautiful a Saturday as she’d ever experienced. The world had gone hazy and Belle held up a hand, wondering when her skin had become so pale, or why she could see Leroy’s house through her knuckles. Oh, she was seeing things alright, it just took a strong effort of will on Belle’s part to admit that what she was seeing was _real_.

 

Just a block from her house—so close to safety—and the street was deserted, everyone either curled up inside or running errands down by Storybrooke’s shops. There was no one to witness Belle halting in the middle of the road, dropping her present, hanging her head and shaking, no one to help her. Except...

 

There was a tingle at the back of Belle’s neck there told her she wasn’t alone. Tiny pinpricks turned her head, like the fingers of a phantom trying desperately to guide her. Against her better judgment, Belle did turn and saw—

 

“Regina?”

 

It was her alright, crossing Belle’s path just a few yards down the road, but good god, it didn’t look like Regina as she’d ever seen her before. Gone were the sensible suits, streamlined and tailored to fit Regina’s tall frame. In their place was a dress, the first Belle had ever seen her wear, and it was so formal that she would have stared even if the rest wasn’t quite so shocking: pitch black and floor-length, high sweeping collar, a hem edged in silver thread that gathered the fabric, encouraging it to flow like water over the dusty street... Belle gasped softly, noting that Regina also wore a necklace of draped rubies and diamonds, rings on every finger, what looked like some kind of crown wrought out of cold iron and just as many jewels...

 

The more Belle looked, the more the image stole her breath and the more convinced she became that this was wrong somehow. Not just abnormal or strange, but _warped_.

 

“Regina?” she tried again. Belle let her voice carry a little farther, despite the fact that it shook with uncertainty—and Regina turned.

 

Belle took a stumbling step back.

 

The only thing that kept her in place was the understanding, instinctual, that Regina wasn’t looking at her, but _through_ her. That the awful, twisted, agonized expression wasn’t directed at Belle at all. Regina had always seemed the deliberately miserable type, even a little cruel, but to Belle’s knowledge she’d never looked at someone like that before.

 

More horrifying, this Regina didn’t just look. She _advanced_.

 

That was more than enough for Belle. Bravery was one thing, self-preservation another. So she did the most courageous thing she could in that moment: Belle turned her back on Regina and fled.

 

The deserted street offered no companions. The sunny day did nothing to alleviate her fear. Belle ran as she’d never run before, her mind filled only with static and the dim relief that she hadn’t worn her heels.

 

Belle ran, straight towards home and Rumple, and thus she didn’t see this Regina suddenly disappear—fading like a mid-day mirage.

 

Or maybe a ghost.


End file.
